


whoosah

by poalimal



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Abduction, Consent Issues, Gen, Implied Torture, Implied homophobia, Inaccurate and Overly Simplified Discussions of Mental Health Issues, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, References to PTSD, Sexual Tension, Some Ableism, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, creepy behaviour, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1476289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The thing about trauma was that it took the people you loved and shaped them into people you didn't know how to help.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Steve gets kidnapped by HYDRA. Bucky starts following Sam around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> General disclaimer: unprof, untrue; not mine, don't sue.
> 
> Most of this is only based on canon events established in the films Captain America, The Avengers, and The Winter Soldier. In certain places, however, I have tweaked some details from the comics. In the comics, for example, Sam lives and works as a social worker in Harlem. Here I have him working out of DC, and taking lots of time off. 
> 
> I'm also working under the assumption that Captain America's secret identity -- if it didn't become public knowledge by him fighting the Chitauri with his mask off -- is now known because of the SHIELD database leak. The Falcon's secret identity, however, is not publicly known.
> 
> This universe is a bit abrupt. Hopefully it becomes more accessible as the story progresses.

 

 

Steve got kidnapped. Steve got kidnapped and Sam didn't know about it until the next morning, when he spent a good 15 minutes hollering through his motel room door. Of course, someone called the police after he broke down the door and found Steve's shield left behind, so he got to be the black man to tell them that Captain America had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. So that was fun.

When the police let him go thirteen hours later, his wrists were sore and he had twenty-two urgent messages and a long walk back to the motel awaiting him.

In the parking lot, Bucky was waiting for him, too.

His head was completely shaved; he'd lost some weight. He looked pretty bad.

"Y'know, you've got a funny sense of timing, man," said Sam. His gun was at the motel, hidden under his bed - there was nothing he could do but try to keep talking. "Haven't seen you and Steve in the same place for a long time...are you Supermanning me?"

Bucky blinked. Man, his face was so _bleak_ \- even plain old confusion looked like anger. Lucky Sam was used to dealing with this kind of thing.

"I was asking if you and Steve were the same person. Just a joke, man," said Sam. Bucky made an unamused face. Sam shook his head with a sigh. His humour was wasted here.

"I'm not Steve," said Bucky. "I'm James."

"Yea," agreed Sam, shrugging slightly as he walked past him. It near about killed him to present his bare back to an ex-robot super-assassin - but if he didn't stay calm and act like everything was perfectly ok, he really might get killed. "James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky."

" _James_ ," James insisted, planting his feet. "I go by James."

"Hey, don't get mad at me, I was given faulty intel," Sam said, holding up his hands. "But now I know --" he made a slight, sideways waving motion "-- you go by James."

James didn't reply - Sam thought he might've disappeared into the wood but decided not to turn around to check. Soon enough, he heard the sounds of James plodding after him. Sam wasn't sure yet if he preferred the silence.

The heat provided a minor distraction - three minutes outside and he was already sweating like a dog. Nothing like the damn Georgia heat to keep your mind off of imminent death.

The night was heavy and sweet, like wading through a peach cobbler swamp. The mosquitoes were having a grand old time, feasting on Sam's neck. Sam could've stood to eat, too: unfortunately his wallet was sitting on the bedside table of his motel room, 3 miles away. He could run that in under 20 minutes, but it was generally not a good idea for a black man to be seen running frantically on the side of the road. At night. In the deep South.

"Samuel Wilson," mumbled James, after a moment, a little bit nearer this time. "That's you, right? The Falcon." Sam slowed down and James sped up at the same time. They both stopped in surprise.

Sam tried not to stare at the deep, curious unhappiness on James's face. "You can just call me Sam," he said, in a careful voice.

James wet his lips, opened his mouth to say something -- then he pulled his robot hand back and punched Sam in the stomach.

What the fuck, man! "What the-- fuck, man," wheezed Sam, dropping to the ground. Pain narrowed his world down to a single, sharp cacophony.

Above him, James started backing up slightly. "I-- fuck. _Fuck_ ," he hissed, before darting away into the darkness of the trees.

So. All in all, not one of Sam's better days.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam starts retracing his steps. James keeps following him.

 

 

"Sam," said James, four days later, sliding into the booth across from him at a diner in Hawai'i. Steve still hadn't been found.

"Check, please," Sam called out.

" _No_ ," James said. Kailani, the one on-duty waitress, stopped short. "Not yet. He's not done eating." His eyes ran, quick, suspicious and hungry, over Sam's half-eaten burger.

Ahh. So that's what this was about. "Hey, Kailani, I'm really sorry about this," said Sam. "Can I get another Aloha special, please? Extra fries."

Kailani tapped her pen against the side of her pad. "No problem-o, chief. Did you want a milkshake this time?"

"Think I've got enough boys in my yard at the moment. Thanks, though," said Sam, smiling. Kailani gave him a small grin, shot an uneasy look at James, and then disappeared for the kitchens.

"Was that code?" said James. He was practically vibrating out of his skin, rubbing his right wrist red with his robot hand. "Were you talking about me? Is she part of SHIELD?" Sam had one gun but James had more; best to avoid a massacre, if at all possible.

Besides, the little tracker Stark'd had put on him wouldn't signal for help unless he pulled his gun. And by the time the nearest superhero came by, he and Kailani and all the senior citizens in the place would probably be dead.

"It was a reference to a song you've prolly heard without realizing," Sam explained. James somehow managed to frown with his entire body. "Look, man, you gotta calm down. Like, whoosah, seriously."

"No," James bit out.

"All right, well, can you just put your hands at your side? Please? You're makin' me nervous." Sam added a splurge of ketchup onto his plate, pointedly did not watch James clamping his arms to his side. "You want some of these fries?"

"No," said James, more quietly. "--Yes."

Sam looked at him then. He was staring, blank-faced and intent, at Sam's plate. Well. Clearly, he wanted some, but something was preventing him from accepting the offer. Pride?

"Ok," said Sam, nodding. "Let's say you did want some fries -- not saying you do," he added peaceably, when James's face went bright with panic "--but let's say... _hypothetically_...you wanted some fries. What would stop you from eating them?"

The AC was loud above them, cool on their necks - James made a muggy face of confusion. Sam sipped at his coke, waited for him to respond.

"It's--my hands are dirty," said James. Was he not eating until he made up for all those kills? Damn, son. "I need to wash them." Oh, he meant literally dirty, ok.

"Hey, that's fine, the bathroom's right over there," Sam said, dipping his head at the entrance two booths down. Clearly labelled, too - BATHROOM. James had prolly clocked it on his way in, along with all of the exits and entrances, as Sam had.

"You want me to go," said James. His face looked pinched and confused. "You're trying to get rid of me."

"Relax," said Sam, "I'm not tryna get rid of you, I'm tryna get you to observe basic acts of hygiene. So, stand up."

James stood to his feet immediately. Oh, ok. So they were doing this now. "Relax your arms." James relaxed his arms. "Go to the place marked 'bathroom' two booths down...open the door in the middle...go inside, and wash and dry your hands. And then come back out here."

James darted off, surprising two little blue-haired old women seated at the counter.

Sam turned his gaze to the seaside so James wouldn't have to come back and face his stare. He watched all the people peppering the shoreline below. Normally a place like this would be packed - according to Kailani, though, they were changing management, the menu, and raising the prices. A bunch of the locals weren't happy about it.

All change isn't good change, he thought, not moving a muscle when James came back, stiffly walking to the table. He gave the blue women a wide berth this time.

"Those women are talking about me," he muttered, sitting down again.

"Probably just wondering where you got your shirt from, dude," Sam said, carelessly, pushing his plate towards him. James's shirt was dark grey, with one word written on it: DEATH. So he wasn't fuckin' around.

James glared down at Sam's plate. "This is your food," he said.

"Good observation," said Sam. James didn't smile. Sam sighed. "You said you wanted some fries. You can eat around the burger, can't you?"

"Yes," said James. He looked a little ill. "--No."

"You feelin' ok, man?" James looked away, didn't respond - after a second he shook his head mutely. Sam tried to figure out what was bothering him this time. It was just getting hard to think, with the AC being so _damn_ loud-- ah.

"I'm getting kinda cold, do you wanna eat outside?" he suggested.

James's shoulders came down from around his ears; he nodded. Sam made eye contact with Kailani as he stood to his feet, plate and glass in hand. "We're just going to go outside, ok?"

"Did you want more coke?" she called, holding up a pitcher.

"We're good, thanks," said Sam, taking the initiative to go ahead of James - James might punch him again if he had to walk with Sam at his back.

 

* * *

 

"So...you might know where Steve is," Sam said, some time later, sipping his milkshake. James sipped at his own without answering. Sam had been worried he'd eat too fast, and vomit everything up - he was a slow and steady eater, though; had paced himself easily through Sam's fries, the second burger Sam had ordered, the two orders of fries, Sam's half-eaten burger, and a long-winded story about Sam's first summer down South, at his aunt's place in Virginia.

James was a good listener, Sam thought; you know, when he wasn't trying to kill you.

Wasn't so great at the response part of communication, though. It'd taken him fifteen minutes to admit he had been to Virginia, and another fifteen after _that_ to admit that he'd only been there because he'd been following Sam and Steve.

"C'mon, James," said Sam. "You said you'd been tailing us for weeks."

James pulled his mouth off the straw, licked his lips. "I was," he agreed. A breeze came uphill then, smelled of the sea and sand. James's eyes softened, drifted to the darkening skies. Storm was coming.

Sam tried not to watch him too intensely. "So the night Steve was abducted...what happened?"

"--That was your night," James said quietly, still not looking at him. Sam didn't answer, didn't understand.

James turned back to him when he didn't respond, made a slight face of frustration. "I can't watch both of you when you're in separate rooms," he explained, haltingly. "Sometimes I have to choose. So I rotate."

"You...rotate?" Sam said slowly, twirling his finger around twice.

James nodded, twirled his finger back.

"And where do you usually rotate?" asked Sam.

James shrugged. "Room next door. Rooftop across the street. Either of your closets, in a fix."

Sam tried to think of what he'd been doing the night Steve had been abducted. Or who. "That motel was the last building on the block," he pointed out. "And there were no more vacancies."

James stared at him evenly. "Ok," Sam said, to himself. "That's cool. You just-- watch people having sex in motel closets."

"Steve hasn't had sex since you walked in on him and that bartender," James pointed out. "So it's really just you."

Wow. "That's--that's really cool, man," said Sam. He was in way over his head. "Definitely not a major breach of my privacy or anything."

"You're wearing a tracker that's recording everything I say," said James. He didn't seem surprised, or bothered. "You've read a file on me, you're helping _build_ a file on me." He pushed his empty shake glass forward, got to his feet. "You don't get to talk to me about privacy."

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James finds Steve. Steve can't stop searching. Sam's cool.

 

 

"I found Steve," said James, three nights later, in Steve's Brooklyn loft. So far, Sam retracing his steps had only proven pricey and ineffective. And, honestly? A little lonely.

This wasn't really the kind of company he'd been hoping for, though. "You're. cho. king. me," Sam wheezed.

"You wouldn't wake up," said James, obligingly removing his hands from around Sam's throat and climbing off of him.

"So play some mariachi music, man, damn," Sam said, coughing. When his respiratory system was in working order again, he sat up. Way on the other end of the bed, James held his side, looking pale and distant. "What do you mean you found Steve?"

"HYDRA had him," said James, under his breath. He was looking at Sam's legs; he kept flexing his robot hand again and again. He looked like he was trembling, a bit.

"Where is he?" said Sam, sitting up warily.

James didn't answer, just kept staring at Sam's body. "--You hungry?" he said finally, in a dull voice.

Sam wasn't - he made breakfast anyway. The sun was just rising by the time he flipped a fifth pancake. Steve had some new Bisquick coming his way. Just another expense Sam's credit card really didn't need.

"You're good at cooking," said James, quietly, crowding Sam's space in front of the tiny stove. He didn't react when Sam kept having to push him to the side. To be honest, he didn't really seem like he was all there.

Well. As long as Sam had known (of) him, he'd never really seemed like he was all there -- but now he especially didn't.

"Uh, thank you. Can you cook?" asked Sam, tipping the pan of scrambled eggs onto a big plate. Start with small questions first - then lead up to what you really want to ask. _Can you cook._ _Do you want more pancakes._ _Where's Steve_.

"I can do the basics," said James, resting his chin lightly on Sam's shoulder. This was getting pretty damn weird. Was he drunk? He was slurring a little. "But you actually like it, don't you."

He tilted his head to the right 'till his nose was pressed against Sam's neck. Sam could feel the knuckles of James's robot hand through the back of his shirt - his abdominal muscles clenched up uneasily. "Hmm. You smell good," said James.

"Uhhh. Thanks...man," said Sam, trying to navigate to the kitchen table with a fully grown man leaning against him.

He was half-way successful - James completely collapsed against him and then slid to the floor, gasping a little and staring wide at nothing, his fingers clutching the bloody wound at his side that Sam had somehow missed entirely.

 

* * *

 

"Bucky went in _alone_ , took down several high-ranking HYDRA agents, and got us both out alive. Of course I want him on the team," said Steve. The taser burns on the side of his neck were rosy pink against the pale blue of his hospital gown - they'd be gone in a few hours, Sam knew.

"Cap, I really don't want you to take this the wrong way," said Stark, which pretty much guaranteed that Steve would, "but Bucky's kind of insane." Steve's face said that he had not taken it the right way.

Natasha, who was sitting next to the other bed -- where James was knocked out and hooked up to three different machines -- looked up long enough to stare pointedly at Stark. "Hey, now," said Stark, in protest, "you know I'm not talking 'so insane it just might work', I _love_ 'so insane it just might work' - I am the living embodiment of 'so insane it just might work'."

"Your mileage may vary," muttered Pepper, who was pacing back and forth without taking her eyes off her phone. Loki had teleported Thor and two as of yet unidentified X-Men into another dimension - Pepper'd been talking to Dr Strange for hours about getting them out. Strange was currently in-between worlds, though; the call kept getting lost.

"The thing is," said Banner, in a tentative voice, "it's not just about strength, or ability. It's got to be about trust. You said it sounded like HYDRA was planning something big in Crimea, right?"

Steve nodded, already looking resigned: from the little Sam had gleamed from the Avengers's team dynamic, Bruce Banner was the Voice of Reason, and he generally only spoke up in group settings when he felt very strongly about something.

"Well, I just don't think it would be wise to introduce an unknown variable right now," said Banner. He made a small, shrinking shrug. "I'm sorry, Steve. That's just my opinion."

Steve clenched his fists. "So what're we gonna do? Let him go? Lock him up?" He hated both options equally, Sam could tell.

"--I can stay with Sam," said James. He'd clearly been listening before, but he'd only just now opened his eyes.

Everyone besides Pepper turned to stare at Sam. Even Sam turned around - unfortunately, he was the only Sam in the general vicinity.

"Is," Steve swallowed, "would that be ok, Sam?" His face was blank with hope - in a second, Sam knew, he would withdraw the question and try to find another solution. He wouldn't even hold it against Sam if he said "no". That was probably why Sam ended up saying: "Yea, that's fine with me."

Banner looked disapproving, Natasha looked dubious, and James looked unhappy. Like it hadn't been his idea! Man. There was just no pleasing some people.

Steve was pretty clearly pleased -- his smile lit up the room. Sam couldn't help but grin back.

"Sure, let's leave the psycho killer with the perfectly vulnerable social worker - can't see that turning out badly," said Stark. Perfectly vulnerable? That's not what he'd been saying earlier, when he'd been trying to get Sam to come with them to Crimea.

"I wouldn't hurt him," James muttered. Sam rubbed at his neck, and decided not to mention James ripping his wing off, or punching him in the stomach, or trying to choke him out in his sleep.

"You sure about that?" said Natasha. James frowned, then looked at Sam, saw him touching his neck - he looked down at his lap in silence.

Banner pulled off his glasses, rubbed at the sides of his nose. "The problem is that we have no way of knowing...no way of being sure," he said, almost as if to himself.

Pepper stopped pacing long enough to hold up a hand and say: "Just let them stay at the Tower, Tony. JARVIS will look after them."

 

* * *

 

The morning 2/3 of the Avengers were due to leave for Crimea, Sam woke up very early. Steve, as always, woke up even earlier. Sam wasn't sure he'd ever gone to sleep, actually - torture was hell on your REM. When Sam came out in his running shorts, Steve was leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping a mug of coffee.

Steve dipped his head in greeting, then returned to reading the magazine in his hand.

"Y'know, a funny thing happened to me yesterday," said Sam, reaching for the Captain America Crunch.

"What's that," Steve said, glancing up. He winced a little when he saw the box Sam was holding.

"My supervisor _thanked_ me for taking two more weeks off. She even gave me a raise," said Sam, trying not to smile. "Now why do you think she'd do something like that?"

Steve's ears went red; he cleared his throat and quickly returned his attention to the magazine. "Personally, I find the ways of modern society pretty bewildering," he said.

Sam bit back a laugh: Steve was full of shit. "Well, let me de-wilder the situation for you," he said, "I should've _been_ fired. I used up all my vacation time and my paid leave _and_ my sick leave last month. But you know what my boss said to me?" Steve smiled guiltily.

" _Thank you for doing your American duty_ ," said Sam, in an overdramatic falsetto. "What do you think she meant by that?"

The blush spread from Steve's ears to his face. "I may have," he cleared his throat again, "made a few calls. Given an interview or two, about what an important role you played. May have specifically mentioned where you work."

Sam swiped the magazine -- Steve gave it up without fuss, probably because it was GQ -- turned to the front. On the cover, Steve was grinning against a white wall. He was wearing a decent black suit, a plain white shirt, and a truly awful American flag tie. His hands held the tie firm, as if he were about to pull the knot tighter.

So this was the errand Steve had disappeared to do back when they were in LA! He was a man of many faces. " _THE CAP COMES OFF: Steve Rogers talks The Potomac Event, updating his wardrobe, and kickin' ass and takin' names_ ," Sam read aloud. He smiled ruefully, flipped inside. "So how many pants did they put you in that actually fit?"

"See, I thought they were being ironic," Steve said, leaning over Sam's shoulder a bit to glance at the spread. "Like those unhappy kids who don't like jazz anymore...? Hipsters?" Sam laughed aloud; he could see Steve smiling hard in the corner of his eye.

"You know, people used to called pants like these--" Steve pointed at the very tight trousers that were folded up mid-ankle "--highwaters."

"Oh, believe me, we still call them that," said Sam, shaking his head.

The second picture, two pages wide and black and white, was definitely a photo of Captain America - Steve looked stately, chiselled; hollow. More like an idea than an actual person.

Steve reached over and flipped to the next page. "There you are, hey," he said. Sam whooped, following his finger - and then couldn't stop laughing for a bit. Of course they'd chosen an old Facebook photo of him smizing like a geek. Still - better than nothing!

" _Pictured: Air Force captain turned DC social worker Sam Wilson._ Ayyy, you know. that's. right!" Sam held his hand out for a fist bump (which Steve returned), before continuing to read: " _Wilson was 'invaluable' during The Potomac Event, says Rogers. 'Sam worked behind the scenes, mostly, but I owe him -- and the VA -- my life_." Sam whistled. "Damn, Steve -- you really went there. "

"I meant it, though," said Steve, hiding his mouth behind his mug. "I couldn't have done it alone." He shut his eyes, briefly. "Really...I can't do any of it alone."

Sam put GQ down on the counter, prodded Steve's hip with his own. "Well, you're not alone, man. You're never alone," he said. "You've got the team, you got me..." He wasn't sure if he was allowed to mention Peggy.

"And now I've got Bucky," said Steve, flatly.

Right. And Bucky, too.

Sam gave Steve a quick onceover. He was, physically, the picture of health. Looking at him now, you would've never believed how he'd looked just a day or two ago. You might not even be able to tell how unhappy he was.

"I never thanked you, you know," said Steve, meeting his gaze. "For finding him while I was away?" _Away_. Like he'd been at a damn day spa.

"Nah, dude, _he_ found _me_ ," said Sam, trying for a joke. It fell flat - Steve smiled faintly, looked down and away.

Steve had wanted to be the one to find Bucky, Sam knew. Hell, James was just one floor away and Steve wanted to keep looking.

Sam moved closer until their arms were solidly touching. "Hey," he said, quiet. "It's ok to keep grieving. You know that, right?"

It's ok to feel angry, he wanted to say; it's ok to be scared.

The thing about trauma...the thing about trauma was that it took away the people you loved and shaped them into strangers you didn't know how to help.

Sam knew this, had lived through it with his own family, had relived it with every vet he'd helped in counselling. Steve had to know it, too, even if he'd never really been on the other side of the equation.

That didn't make it any easier to come to terms with - particularly right after a solid week of being cut open.

"I just feel like I'm punishing him, Sam," said Steve, like he wasn't punishing himself. His voice was very quiet - the hum of the fridge almost took it over. "I mean...it's hard to even _look_ at him sometimes."

"Man, listen - you can't put all this on yourself. He's gonna heal at his own rate," said Sam. He nudged him a little. "And you've gotta heal at yours, too. This isn't gonna get fixed by you throwing everything at it - sometimes you gotta just--" he took in a deep breath, let it out "--whoosah."

"Whoosah?" Steve repeated, grinning lopsidedly. "Is that like Hakuna Matata?"

Sam laughed. "Close," he said, turning away to put the cereal back. "Less singing, though."

"--How about you, though?" said Steve. Sam turned back to look at him. Didn't know what he meant, didn't know how to respond. "Are you...whoosah'ed?"

"Uh," said Sam, smiling, "I mean, yea, man." He breathed in deep, let it go. It was cool. "I'm cool."

"Sam, listen," said Steve, in his Captain America voice, "you can't put all this on yourself--"

"Now where have I heard that before?" Sam put in. Steve broke character and slipped into a smile.

"I just meant," he said, in his regular Steve voice, "...you spend so much time helping other people. Well, who's helping you?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- For whatever reason, Clint didn't fit naturally into the hospital scene. He might already be in Crimea, or he might be providing Fury extremely covert backup. I haven't decided yet how off-screen he's going to be  
> \- Steve would probably have an easier time remembering completely new concepts than he would remembering ones which have shifted in meaning (ex. hipsters)  
> \- Steve says Sam worked 'mostly behind the scenes' not to intentionally diminish his efforts, but to protect his secret identity


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same day: Sam says goodbye, goes for a run.

 

 

It had to be rough for Stark, Sam thought, a couple hours later, as he watched everyone do a final check of their packs. It couldn't be easy, being asked to house the person who might've had a hand in killing your parents. Particularly when that person turned out to have been one of your childhood heroes. (According to Steve, anyway.)

Probably it was for the best that James didn't come up to the roof to see the rest of them off. That'd be like a bad luck charm or something, Sam thought, nodding to Banner and Stark as they passed him by.

Natasha hung back a little and gave him a tight hug. Before Sam could even register surprise, she leaned up and whispered in his ear: "There's a panic room behind the largest book shelf in the basement. The code is 5bx8q."

" _Wow_ ," Sam said, pulling back, blinking back against the wind. It was hard to hear anything besides the steady roar of the Quinjet. "Are you saying I'll need it?" The prospect of being alone with James suddenly seemed significantly less appealing. And it had never been all that appealing to begin with.

"I'm saying it never hurts to be prepared," Natasha said, taking a small step back. A hint of a smile rippled over her face. "Besides, it makes me feel better. That way, if you die, I'll know it's not because of anything I didn't do."

"Oh, great, yea, that really makes me feel much better, thank you, Nat," said Sam. Natasha grinned to show that she was kidding, then gripped his shoulder hard to show that she was serious. Then, hair whipping full around her face, she walked towards Steve, who'd hung back a little, too.

"Nah, don't--don't worry about me, guys," Sam called. "I'll be fine, just...holding down the fort with some guy who's been killing for longer than I've been alive. No worries, ahaha."

Natasha kept on towards the Quinjet without stopping; Steve slowed down a little, cupped his hand around his ear.

Sam just shook his head, smiled faintly, and waved goodbye.

 

* * *

 

When Sam came back downstairs to the main floor, the GQ magazine was gone. He left a message for JARVIS to pass along to James if he came out of his room again, and then he went out running.

His sneakers were new, and so they needed some breaking in: he ran and ran, past the fancy high-rises, the neat sidewalks, the vegan bistros, the boarded up store-fronts, the liquor stores, the buildings that looked as though they'd been battered back and forth between Sandy and the Chitauri.

One of Sam's patients, Denise, had moved up here; last he'd heard of her, she'd decided she'd rather live in Jersey. And of course Riley's sister Ili had had to move away, too. Desperate times, Sam thought.

New York used to be home. Now it was--he didn't know what it was. It wasn't somewhere he recognized.

Sam was so deep into his head that it took him a while to realize a woman across the street was intentionally keeping pace with him. She was wearing a purple hijab, and she kept smiling whenever he glanced at her. This back and forth kept them both occupied for a couple of blocks. Right when they were about to cross into the park together, though, James came out of nowhere and fell into step with Sam.

Sam was a little surprised.

" _Shit_ ," he hissed, slowing down before coming to a stop. He pulled his headphones out, put his hands on his hips, tried to catch his breath. When he looked up, the woman in purple was looking back at him, grinning as she jogged away. Damn.

"I remember this place," said James, Joykill Supreme. He was still jogging lightly in place.

"Yea. Look--listen," said Sam, breathing hard, "James."

James perked up - well. Perked up as much as was possible when he looked like a hostile little storm cloud. "Yea?"

"Don't sneak up on people," said Sam. "Say 'hey' or something. Ok?"

James stopped jogging. "--Hey," he said, in a voice which suggested that he knew precisely where to touch to make Sam hurt the most. Probably it wasn't even intentional, him sounding like that.

The problem was that Sam was kind of still in flirtation mode, so instead of making him feel frightened, James's voice made him feel very--not frightened.

"--Almost there," he said, backing up a little, towards the bird shit-ridden bench. Distance and detachment - that was the name of the game here. "It's like 'hey', though, not ' _hey_ '."

James blinked at him. "Hey," he repeated, with precisely the same inflection as before.

Sam shook his head. Like trying to explain the desert to a fish. "Nah, more like...hey, man. Casual and friendly. Like, hey, how's it goin'?"

"--Hey, how's it goin'," said James. He sounded slightly warmer than usual.

"I'm doing fine, thanks for asking," said Sam. James narrowed his eyes and nodded thoughtfully, like Sam had just explained a complicated math problem. "So, hey."

"Hey," James said immediately. Sam stifled his grin - he really was trying.

"You said you remembered this place?" He sat down gingerly on the edge of the bench. James stared down at him, then took a few steps back, looked around them.

"Yes," he said, simply. He was quiet for a few moments, just looking and breathing. Sam rubbed at his ears briefly - it felt like there was a slight buzzing in them. Almost a faint whine, even - coming in and out, like a radio searching for reception.

James's gaze wandered over to something behind Sam. "Steve and I...we climbed that tree once." Sam twisted around, followed the direction of James's headjerk.

In the midst of the green, there was a very large stump. Probably there had been more trees that far back once; now most of them were clustered closer to the low black iron fence.

Sam flicked his gaze back up, took in James's profile with a bit of unease. _Didn't you live in Brooklyn?_ he wanted to ask. He didn't.

"And you..." James said, slowly, right when Sam realized that the irregular buzzing was coming from James's robot arm, "...you were there?"

Oh, man. Sam looked at him. Shook his head as gently as possible.

James's face went very blank. He nodded once (careful, like his head wasn't quite connected to his neck) - and then he turned the way they came and jogged off without another word.

"Wait, hold on," Sam said. He got to his feet too quickly, though, and his right knee almost slid out of the socket. " _Fff_ \--ck." He shut his eyes briefly.

When he opened them again, James had disappeared.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Ahh, my silly author's note at the beginning. Obviously I didn't establish that Sam was working out of DC - the film did! Another detail established in the films (the first Captain America film, specifically): Steve and Bucky being from Brooklyn. I only mention this because a few sources say Steve's from Manhattan in the comics. (Manhattan, if you did not know (as I didn't before writing this!), is on an island, and is connected to the other boroughs by bridges. This kind of distance makes it a little unlikely that two poor white kids (one of them sickly) would have been travelling often between the two places. It's not impossible, though - in my mind, the tree-climbing was a real memory, James just got confused in the telling of it.)  
> \- As in the comics, Sam is from Harlem. As in the film, he is working and based in DC  
> \- Hurricane Sandy took place in 2012, the same year The Avengers came out. In my mind, this story (and the events of The Winter Soldier) occur in 2013


	5. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Correspondence.

 

 

Falc -

Getting settled in. H/E already here; said he knew something was up. Planning to meet one of his contacts tomorrow. So far there has been lots of stew and bread. Endless rain, too. Can't speak Ukrainian or Russian so B/W taking lead. I/M backseat driving as usual. T/H surprisingly good at accents. All of us missing T's sense of humor. And yours :- )

How are you? How is B?

Is this text message too long?

Cap

 

* * *

 

_Hey, this is Sam Wilson. You know what to do!_

[beep]

 _Heyyy, Sam, this is Iliana. It's so funny that you're in New York, I was just up there for Rojelio's bday-- I guess we must have just missed each other. Anyway, Amá knows you're there and she'll be wanting to do something special. Don't try to get out of it! And bring Captain America if you can, she didn't believe me when I told her what you were doing._ [laughter]

 _Oh, almost forgot to tell you - I finally got a new phone! New number is_  [xxx xxx xxxx]. _Call me when you can, ok? Te mando muchos, muchos besos._ [kissing noise] [kissing noise] [laughter] _Ok, talk to you soon! Bye_.

 

* * *

 

Hey Sam:

Just got your email. Ron has been doing better. He wasn't adjusting to the change all that well. I'll tell him you were asking after him. Had a really intense sesssion yesterday I'll tell you about it later. A bunch of people keep coming expecting Captain America to show but other than that its been prety calm around here. Amanda has really been stepping into a support role for one of The newer guys Pranav. I think You met him once at your last meeting. He would really benefit from your counsel.

Do you know when you're coming back?

Col Emile T. DeSario, MSW

 ** _Courage consists in the power of self-recovery_.**  
\-- **Ralph Waldo Emerson**

 

* * *

 

_Hey, this is Sam Wilson. You know what to do!_

[beep]

 _Dude, I swear to God, you better call me when you get this_ \-- [cooing in the background] -- _you said I would only have to look after Redwing for a month and a half, I can't believe_ \-- _I'm contacting the Home Owner's Association, ok? I don't care how much you pay me, I am a creature of the night, I can't keep waking up at 6 in the morning because your bird! won't stop trilling! I feel_ alert _and_ refreshed, _dude, it's disgusting. This isn't just unneighborly behavior, this is cruel and unusual_ \--

[beep]

 

* * *

 

FATIMA WILSON _left a comment on your photo_ : Chillin wit my boi...

cuzzo i can't breeeeeeathe....listen. look. LISTEN!!!! i've seen this photo like 500 times in the past 2 days...and dont get me wrong, i'm so so so proud of you. seriously, go you!!!! doin big thangs, getting your photo in GQ!!! but you look hilarious???? i can't stop laughing ;_;

  
FATIMA WILSON _left a comment on your photo_ : Chillin wit my boi...

i'm still laughing omfg

 

* * *

 

_We're sorry - this mailbox is full and cannot take new messages._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Things that I made up this chapter: Riley being Latinx, having a sister, and having an uncommon full first name; Sam having a put-upon neighbour looking after his bird; Sam having a cousin who messes with him on Facebook  
> \- I have no idea if there's any proper appellation for having a background in Military Social Work. Sorry, just winged it!  
> \- Unimportant detail: Barton's contact is Illyich Lavrov (Sibercat)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James feels cornered. Sam is not the one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not best pleased with the flow of these final few chapters. Think I've spent enough time on them already, though.

 

 

James was, apparently, back to treating him like a potentially hostile subject. He answered everything with "no". _Do you feel like going for a run. Please pass the syrup. What time is it_.

 _Can you stop waiting outside my door while I'm trying to sleep, I can_ hear _your arm, man_.

"No," said James.

Sam slipped his hands out of his boxers, resigned himself to another night of useless pent up energy. "What d'you mean _no_? No, I can't hear your arm or no, you won't stop waiting outside my door?" What the hell.

James honest to God kicked his door. "No, you don't--" he kept kicking "--get. to order. me. a.round."

Oh, _hell_ naw. This was not some episode of Supernanny - Sam was not the one. He was up and out of bed before he could stop himself.

"Look, man," he said, forcing himself to keep his voice quiet - already he could feel the tightening of the air that signalled JARVIS was waking up from stand-by, "you need to calm the fuck down and talk to me. I can't know what's going on if you don't tell me."

James made a wordless, frustrated noise. Kicked his door again.

Sam slapped his hand down on his own side of the door - he really did not have the patience for tantrums right now. "Hey! If you wanna spend all night kicking this goddamn door, you just let me know - I am perfectly fine with sleeping on the couch." Total lie: he had no desire to wake up with a crick in his neck, never mind the hell of actually trying to navigate past a surly supersoldier. "But if you _want_ something from me? If you're trying to get my attention? You have to tell me _why_. Ok? I am not in your head, I cannot read your mind."

Sam's heart was still pounding with adrenalin. He took in a deep breath, tried to swallow his anger - who did he think he was yelling at? One of his rowdy ass lil' cousins? This dude could _kill_ him.

"I can't...know what you want," he said, "if you don't _tell_ me."

James's jagged breathing quieted. For a second, Sam considered opening the door - just to see what face James was making at that moment.

Good thing he didn't - in the next moment James had punched a solid dent into the door. Nothing more than the outline of two knuckles showed, but it was enough to make Sam jump back, trying not to freak out, trying to keep his breathing, trying to remember that motherfucking panic room code. 2xb--...no, it was 2qb--...no, it was--

"What I want," said James, voice low with fury, twisted up with the whine of his arm, "is some fucking privacy."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an upcoming chapter, I want you to know that I read this
> 
>  _[Bucky's arm] can discharge an EMP [electromagnetic pulse] rendering electronic devices useless. He failed to use it on a prepared Iron Man_
> 
> and immediately took it to mean that StarkTech is slightly more advanced than whatever HYDRA was working with.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets it. Really. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tag 'Suicidal Thoughts' has been added for this chapter.

 

 

After that, it was a bit easier to feel out the boundaries. Don't engage - don't ask questions, don't try to share meals, don't spend time on the same floor.

It wasn't like they'd had any kind of schedule together - Sam had really just been planning on playing it by ear. Still, he woke up the next day at the same time he woke up every morning, feeling tense and aimless.

He couldn't help thinking: so now what?

He'd never been good with idle hands, for the most part. He'd been raised to believe in an 11th commandment: _Thou shalt not be lazy_. And his time in the Air Force had taught him much of the same. Faking productivity, he'd used to think, was always better than doing nothing.

The last time he'd had this kind of... _sprawling_ downtime (the first months back after Riley's death, when he'd decided not to re-up), he'd gone into a kind of hyper-active rut: he was up at dawn in his sister's house, cooking almost every meal for the family. He put in a new sink in the guest bathroom, cleaned and organised his brother-in-law's garage, built his niece and nephew a tree house (though there were no trees in the backyard), sewed and scrubbed and planted and painted and re-tiled and raked and mowed wherever he was needed.

He ran almost 30 miles everyday, maintained his body like a goddamn temple. He was a new man; he wanted to kill himself.

It wasn't something he'd decided consciously: it was just something he knew. Sarah was the only person he came close to telling, and that was only because there was no one else he could trust. They'd both gotten along better with Gideon growing up, and she'd gone off to college before they ever had to give up their mutual indifference.

She'd probably figured some of it out, anyway. Those first long months when he was staying at her place, she'd always force him to come out with them all on Family Night - sometimes they'd go to an arcade, or to the theatre, or (less often) to evening service.

Now, Sam could still have fun, he could still laugh and crack jokes, and he could shout unto God with a voice of triumph...but he'd still climb the stairs to the guest bedroom every evening filled with dread for the coming morning. The nights were the worst - the entire house dead and silent around him, each breath a spectre strangling him out of sleep.

Day after tomorrow, he'd tell himself, every single night; that's when I'll do it. Just get through one more day, and then it'll be over.

And before Sarah dragged him down to the VA, that was the only thing keeping him alive.

 

* * *

 

So it wasn't like he didn't recognize parts of himself in James -- he knew what it was to not understand yourself, to feel yourself losing all sense of connection and certainty. It was a kind of disappearing, the return home -- it was when you had to realize that home didn't exist for you in the same way anymore. That you didn't exist in the same way anymore.

And since nothing on the inside made sense, everything on the outside had to.

But for James, nothing made sense -- he probably had no sense of continuity. He didn't know who he was or who he'd been, and he didn't seem to know, exactly, how to move forward. And Sam didn't know how to reassure him on any front.

But he'd said he wanted privacy. And that, Sam could give.

So for the next three days, that was what he did: he got up early, planned out his day, left his schedule with JARVIS, in case James asked where he was. He knew what the signs of depression looked like in himself, and he also knew that sometimes you could provoke a depressive state by acting like you were already stuck in one.

He forced himself to take it easy: he got up early, ran until it was light, came back to the Tower, showered, and ate breakfast while texting Steve a minimally depressing update. Then he went about his day.

On the first day, he spent hours at the library reading Langston with his headphones in, flash-backing (in a strange way) to the scrawny days of his youth. 

Every other night had been spent holed up in his tiny ass room, nudging knobby-kneed Gideon to his side of the bed, reading yellowed Captain America comics by the light of the lamps outside, trying not to get distracted by the sounds of [ Biggie blaring from two brownstones down](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AN8m1VUqcvE).

On the second day, he went to visit Mrs Reyes to bring her a pot of daisies and a sub from Sammy's. He ended up staying well into the evening, chopping up cilantro, garlic and green pepper beside her, washing rice and opening tall tins of Goya black beans and squat cans of tomato paste while [ Yuri crooned in the background](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQSew4C6Ggc).

"Your Spanish is getting very bad," Mrs Reyes told him, in Spanish, when she went to walk him to the door. "You keep this up and your children won't understand me!"

On the third day -- the hottest of the three -- he did laundry, gave Sarah a call. And after lunch, he went to visit Riley's grave.

He'd just planned to stop by, maybe toss the mostly dead marigolds Ili had left behind, but the wind was warm and the sky red by the time his voice gave out.

He walked back from the cemetery wondering what Riley would've been doing, if he had survived that last mission. If he'd still be working in his garage, or if yuppies would've pushed him out. Wondered if the two of them would still be like brothers...or if they would've fallen into distance and become functional strangers, like Sam had with almost everyone else in his detachment.

When he got back to the Tower that evening, James was waiting for him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I've seen the term 're-up' more frequently used with the US Army. I've got no idea if I'm using it correctly!  
> \- In an earlier chapter, I fabricated the fact that Sam was a USAF Captain - I don't know what the average age is for Captains in the Air Force, but I'm betting it's not 31, which is the age I decided Sam was  
> \- The library Sam goes to is the Jefferson Market Library  
> \- 'shout unto God with a voice of triumph' is a reference to Psalm 47:1  
> \- When I wrote that Sam 'knew that sometimes you could provoke a depressive state by acting like you were already stuck in one', 'acting' isn't being used to mean 'feigning' but rather 'completing specific activities in a toxic manner'. It's not just a depressive state which can trigger certain unhealthy habits; sometimes the reverse is true, too. Engaging in certain unhealthy habits can sometimes trigger a depressive state. I'm not sure if I'm being clear enough here...  
> \- A detachment is a small military unit of command. I've got no idea if I'm using it correctly [2]!  
> \- Comic canon does list Sam as having a sister (Sarah) and a brother (Gideon)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same day: What's been eating Bucky Barnes?

 

 

He was in the living room, watching some kind of cartoon on mute when Sam came through the door. The last two nights, Sam'd come back to total darkness before JARVIS raised the lights for him - Sam should've figured something was up, seeing the lights on from outside. But he'd been thinking about thinking, drifting between Riley and nothingness and back -- so he wasn't prepared.

The past two days, James had probably been avoiding Sam as neatly as he'd been being avoided. Usually by this time he was up in his room. Or maybe out on the streets, who the fuck even knew.

Well. JARVIS knew, probably. He had an uncanny way of knowing precisely where James was at all times. Stark probably had eyes all over the city.

Sam didn't say any of this, or anything at all, just shut the door behind himself and bent to untie his shoes. If James had something he wanted to say to him, he would have to say it himself.

He felt eyes on the top of his head and looked up: James tilted his head at the last moment, though, so all Sam caught was the clean line of his jaw. He'd started shaving, Sam thought, giving him an unobtrusive once-over. He still looked little worn-out.

His feet were bare, Sam saw; he was flat-footed, too. It was a weird observation: Sam was caught between thinking _why did I notice that?_ and _how didn't I notice that before?_

James interrupted his thoughts: "You know, you're just like him."

Like who? Sam didn't ask. As far as James was concerned, there was only one "him" between the two of them.

"Always trying to talk to the dead," James continued. He was looking at Sam now, and Sam was looking at him, too, mind whirring--no, that little whirring sound was obviously coming from James's arm, muffled though it was beneath the fuzzy throw.

Sam was thinking still, wondering -- _did he follow me to the cemetery?_

"--And what's wrong with that," he said, once it became clear that James was actually waiting for a response. Be calm, he told himself, be easy.

On the television, a purple hippo licked a tree trunk and started spitting out rainbows. Man...kid's shows were tripped _out_. Sam watched James watch the screen, tried not to tense up when he saw him clenching his jaw.

Sam knew how to play the waiting game with patients - but this was different: James didn't seem to want to come to him, for one thing; for another, Sam was too damn old to be hunched over like this for so long. His back was 'bout to riot.

"It's...selfish," James said, finally. As Sam looked on, James's face went slightly red. Embarrassed? Angry? Trying to read him sometimes felt like trying to play chess with a pack of cards.

"Selfish?" What? "Selfish, how?"

James crumpled up his brow, aimed a small sneer down at himself. "Because...because they can't...--" his voice nearly gave out on him, but he kept going "--they can't answer back." He shifted his eyes to the side, glaring around Sam but not quite looking at him directly. "It's just so _you_ can feel better."

Sam tried his best to summon the right words, the words that might fix this -- _Man, if Riley could answer me back, I wouldn't have to talk, I'd just listen. I'm sure it's the same with Steve. I'm sure he just wants to get to know you again_. But the words wouldn't come.

"What's wrong with trying to feel better?" he said, instead. James's eyes snapped to his. "Should I just be upset all the time? Is that your solution?"

James opened his mouth to say something--probably annoying. "You know what? Never mind, just forget about it," said Sam, cutting him off. He wasn't trying to hear it. He got to his feet as quickly as possible, waved James down when he did the same.

"Oh, don't stand on my account," he said, sarcastically; James of course ignored him.

The wavering whine of his robot arm followed Sam all the way down the elevator hallway. He was not going to turn around, he told himself, pressing the elevator button again and again; he was not going to apologize, he was not going to go back and--

"Sir," said JARVIS, in a quiet, crisp voice, "you need only press the button once."

"--Sorry," said Sam, feeling stung and too-big. He let his hand drop to his side, useless. "My bad."

 

* * *

 

Sam's sleep was deep and dreamless. He awoke the next morning to find the sun already out. Huh. He'd slept in late.

He stared out the window for a good minute or so, unused to this particular view of the skyline during the day. His right knee was feeling a little sore, he thought, stifling a yawn with his fist.

JARVIS's voice slid smoothly through the silence: "Good morning, Mr Wilson. Will you be eating or running first?"

"Uh..." Sam blinked, remembering how he'd spoken with James last night. He scrubbed a face over his hand, wondered if it was even safe to venture outside his door. "Neither, just yet. Thanks."

"Very well, sir." Silence.

Sam sat up fully in bed, stretched his arms back over his head. Now, how to ask this next question? ...The easiest way was probably the most obvious. "Where's, uh, Mr Barnes?" If he was downstairs, Sam would take the back stairs. If he was in his room, Sam would just go to the kitchen. If he was out, Sam would--

"I do not know, sir," said JARVIS, neatly deflating all of his hypotheticals.

Vague alarm sloughed off the last of Sam's fuzziness. "You don't know?" he said, dropping his arms.

That was a first. Honestly, Sam wouldn't have thought a person like Stark would've even bothered to put a phrase like "I do not know" into his computer's database.

"As far as I can presently determine," said JARVIS, "Mr Barnes has disappeared, sir."

Oh, goddamn it. "Well, how'd you determine his location before?" said Sam, trying to keep calm. This kinda seemed like the sort of thing you would want to _lead-in with_ , but hey! What the fuck did Sam know.

"Ah. Well--" JARVIS....hesitated. That was the only word for it. "A tracker was placed in Mr Barnes's side during his stay at the hospital."

\--No way Steve had known about _that_ , Sam thought, stunned into silence; no way he would've let that happen.

"It has likely sustained substantial damage," JARVIS continued, "as it is no longer giving out any kind of signal."

What did that mean? Did that mean James had sustained substantial damage, too? Had he gotten into a fight? Had HYDRA agents found him?

"Mr Barnes himself has not shown up on any of the city-based CCTV networks since leaving the Tower some time ago," said JARVIS. "When I passed this information along to Mr Stark, Mr Rogers happened to intercept the message. He was...understandably concerned."

Sam took a moment to think about what it might've sounded like to Steve: James stumbling through New York City with a hole cut open somewhere in his body, bloodied and terrifying. Terrified.

"--Shit," said Sam, flatly.

"Quite," said JARVIS.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same day: Sam finds James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags 'Implied Homophobia', 'Internalised Homophobia', and 'Consent Issues' have been added for this chapter.

 

 

He heard the women as soon as he got out on Steve's floor. Good thing he'd checked here first, he thought.

The last time he'd been here, he'd been following after the ambulance stretcher in a kind of fugue; he hadn't even noticed the blood all over himself until Natasha had given him a pair of clothes and told him to change.

Steve's door was unlocked, wide open; the music came out in the hallway, clear:  _[\--I'm aware...my heart is a sad affair...there's much dis-i-llu-sion there. But I can dream, can't I?](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQpBG0IZl6o)_

Sam stepped inside, and wasn't sure what he was seeing.

A man was seated at the table in front of the window, half-naked, limned with sunlight. He was bent over something, pen going 'round and around. The music filled the room so wholly that Sam briefly thought he was watching a film.

But then the man moved-- and Sam blinked hard against the sharp glint that got in his eyes.

It was James's left arm, reflecting against the sun. Of course it was James, who else would it be? Steve was still in Crimea, not drawing in his Brooklyn loft.

Sam came closer to see what James was doing; James didn't tense up or shift away like Sam had expected him to.

He had the GQ magazine open on the table - he'd turned to the two page b&w photo of Steve as Captain America. He'd drawn heavy black circles over Steve's eyes, spiralling further and further outward until you couldn't even see a face anymore.

Ok. So. That was weird.

Further up on the table there was a scalpel, a medical sewing kit, a neat pile of white and reddish bandages, a basin of water, some tweezers and antiseptic - and a completely crushed bit of wiring. RIP that tracker, then.

There was a small, lopsided heart-shaped set of stitches right around James's left rib. Fresh, from what Sam could tell. Probably hurt like shit.

The CD player made a brief beeping noise once the track reached its end. Sam stared down at the line of James's shoulders in the ensuing silence.

No more buzzing noise, he noticed, shifting his body weight.

James finally looked up at him.

Steve had once told him that James had been a real ladies' man back in the day - it wasn't until just now that Sam really saw it. Bathed in sun, James actually looked like a human being who ventured outside from time to time. Made the bags under his eyes look like mere shadows.

He looked...relaxed. Like a wet shirt wrung through, and hung out to dry. Vague and contemplative, as if Sam was an approaching street performer, and he hadn't decided if he was amused yet.

"--You've been busy," Sam observed. He wondered if his lips were turned up at the edges, like he wanted them to be. He was still feeling keyed up; the relief wouldn't quite come.

"Hm," said James. "...You shouldn't sneak up on people." Then he rose to his feet in one aggressive forward motion.

"Hey, whoa," Sam said, taking two startled steps backwards. He held up his hands. "Back up, man, back--"

"No," said James, coming even closer. The sun was at the back of him, shining directly into Sam's eyes - it was hard to see him clearly without being blinded. It was like a parachuting into a dead zone.

"Look, you need to back up right now," Sam said, stopping short the moment he felt the arm of the couch pressing into his back. He hadn't felt like this - wound up and unable to control any of it - for ages.

"I don't," said James, pushing his robot hand softly against Sam's abs, "have to listen to you."

James's hand was warm through Sam's shirt - if he wanted, he could rip out all of Sam's internal organs, could electrocute him, even. And Sam couldn't do anything to stop him.

What had that one bridge experiment measured? Misattribution of arousal? _Fuck_.

Sam's mouth was dry, his stomach felt all fucked up and weird, and he could feel his heartbeat thudding all the way up in his face. "You've been not listening to me for the past week, man, I got that already, back _up_ ," Sam said, unhappily. He tried to step to the side - James's right hand pinched his hip, warm and sharp, kept him in place.

"Sh," said James, "calm down. Keep breathing." The light had settled in by now - Sam saw James's expression clearly when he pushed his shirt up with his normal, human hand. Sam let him - seconds passed, lightning didn't break through the roof and strike him dead, and he kept letting him.

"Maybe I have to be touching the area directly," James mumbled, apparently to himself. He looked up - he didn't look mean or angry or scared. That didn't really mean anything, though. He'd probably killed plenty of people with this kind of expression. "Can I?"

 _I don't have to listen to you_. Sam felt a weird thrumming in his veins. "--Yea," he said. He wanted to say no.

James's hands, one metallic and one flesh, both warmed by sun, skated up Sam's sides, over his ribs, beneath his shirt. Not the worst foreplay Sam had ever endured - still, pretty stiff.

"You need to breathe, Sam," James pressed, one hand slipping out from under Sam's shirt and sliding up his back, slowing and curling around the back of his neck.

"I'm tryin', man. This is...kind of a first," he said, laughing shakily. His stomach was jumping somethin' awful - he kept sucking in long, thin breaths through his mouth.

"Breathe," James whispered, leaning closer. Their foreheads were near enough to touch. Sam wanted to press that little bit forward, to see what would happen. But he wasn't sure...he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know what would happen.

James paused. His hand tightened around the back of Sam's neck, just a bit. It felt off, now, just on the edge of uncareful; Sam didn't like it.

"I think I hear--" James began, tilting his head.

"Samuel, Son of Will! And the Soldier of Many Winters!" boomed Thor, bursting through the door. "You are restored to us! And we to you!"

This was not happening. Sam was having a lucid nightmare, he thought, ducking out of James's grip - there was just no way that this was happening.

"We feared the worst when we saw the Tower empty," continued Thor. "But what a joyous day this is - for we are reunited with our comrades!"

Sprawled across Thor's back, legs around his waist and arms tight around his neck, was Miss Mutant Universe 1999 herself, Ororo Monroe - pressed into Thor's side was an indigo-skinned, yellow-eyed smiling man. Mooncrawler? Nightwalker? Something like that.

All three of them were naked.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure, Samuel Wilson," said Ororo, raising herself up slightly. Sam determinedly did not look at the bit of breast that was revealed, tried not to stare at anyone's dick.

Calm down, he told his own dick, this is not a drill - whoosah for real.

"I'm, ah, his--he's. James," said Sam, waving vaguely at James while trying not to swallow his tongue. James -- whose only reaction to Thor & co's entry thusfar had been to square his shoulders -- made a briefly amused face. Ha ha ha, yea, laugh it up.

The blue-skinned dude flickered out of existence, then reappeared nearer to Sam, saying a question in German. Sam nearly lost his balance and windmilled back onto the couch - it was James stepping quickly in front of him that actually made him fall backwards.

James didn't notice him flipping awkwardly over the couch arm, he was too busy replying to Blue Man Group. Sam's German was rusty from years of disuse - he still picked up on the general tenor of _don't do that_.

"Oh, my," said BMG, with a raspy little chuckle, raising a hand to wave Thor down when he took a heavy step forward. "It seems we have interrupted something very private."

"No, no he was just--" Sam started, pulling himself up from the couch. He wasn't entirely certain what kind of lie was going to come out of his mouth, but he was damn sure he was going to commit to it.

"Checking him over for any trackers," James continued. Sam stopped short, read the truth of it in James's face. James had, in fact, stepped away from him entirely now that BMG had, too.

James shot Thor and Ororo a withering glare while Sam silently reeled. "Your people put one in me while I was in the hospital. It kept messing with my arm."

Oh. So that was what that buzzing noise had been about. That's...that's what it had all been about.

Ororo stopped nuzzling Thor's neck long enough to bristle. " _My people_ would never do such a thing," she said.

"And surely it was for your own good!" Thor added, entirely unbothered by James's glower.

"Eh, God's will," said BMG, vaguely. He was disappearing and reappearing all over the loft, making interested noises at everything he discovered. "I had forgotten what it was like to move so very--awkwardly!" he said, delicately placing a large pot over his head. "What is this called again?"

"--Hatari," said Ororo, frowning. "Put it down, my love."

"Uggligr?" said Thor, a bit dubiously. "Perhaps you should put it down."

"It's called a pot, and yes, please do put it down," said Steve, from behind Thor. His face and knuckles were very red - he looked relieved to see Sam and James standing there. "Thor, buddy - would you mind putting some clothes on?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Timelines for the comics and the films are, as usual, giving me different dates. Nevertheless, the Andrews Sisters' version of 'I Can Dream, Can't I?' came out in 1949, which would've been at most 7 and at least 4 years after Bucky disappeared and Steve went down in the ice  
> \- [ More details on mis-attribution of arousal](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Misattribution_of_arousal)  
> \- Storm and Nightcrawler were the 'two as of yet unidentified' X-Men mentioned in Chapter 3  
> \- Hatari means 'danger' in Swahili; 'uggligr' is Old Norse for hideous, fearful, objectionable. I don't speak either language, though, so they could both actually mean something entirely different!  
> \- I was actually considering having James find a tracker embedded in Sam's skin, but that would've set in motion a series of events which would've begun with introducing [ Isaiah Bradley ](http://www.comicvine.com/isaiah-bradley/4005-40607/) and spiralled into Sam and James becoming some kind of vigilante duo? So. I didn't do that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote 96% of this final chapter back in 2014 and never posted it, not only because it was very disappointing to me, but also because I'd lost confidence in the fic as a whole. And I also...rather obviously could not figure out a satisfying end. But whatever! Growing experience, world won't end, etc.

 

Sam was woken up by the tinny sound of mariachi music. He peered blearily around his room before he remembered where he was. DC. In his apartment. Watching his iPhone buzz and wondering when he'd changed Steve's ringtone.

"This better be an emergency," he grumbled, on the fifth ring. It was barely 3 AM. Mikey's nerd sex next-door had tapered off around midnight; it felt like Sam had only just fallen asleep.

"It's--well, ok, it's not...necessarily an emergency," Steve fumbled. "But it is something you need to know."

"Is the future of our great nation at stake?" said Sam, blinking slowly. Seemed like it took forever for him to see well in the dark these days.

"...Uh. Not any more than usual? I don't think," said Steve.

"Great," said Sam, "goodbye."

"No, no, wait!" said Steve. "Listen, uh. You know how Bucky's been sending me his coordinates whenever he changes location? So I don't worry about him?"

"And souvenirs, yea," said Sam, before a yawn overtook him. "Does he call you in the middle of the night, too?" A thought occurred to him. "Wait, is that what this is about? Are you tryna spice up our relationship with a lil'...sleep deprivation and nocturnal confession? 'Cus you already know, man, I take you as you are; you ain't got to change for me. You just gotta let me sleep."

"--It feels like we're about to have the Safe Space talk again," Steve said, in his I Refuse To Laugh First voice.

In the corner of the room, Redwing gave out a warning coo.

Someone was in his apartment.

"Maybe later, gotta go," Sam whispered, quickly turning off his phone in the middle of Steve's "wait, no, no, no--"

Sam slid out of bed and tiptoed towards his closet, where Gideon's old baseball bat was stashed. Probably whoever it was out there had already heard him talking; and if they'd gotten past Stark-grade security, they meant business.

He slid open the door...and had to swallow a scream when the closet light automatically came on.

James was sitting in his closet with his robot hand buried in a plastic bag. He looked flushed and embarrassed.

Sam stared at him.

So this was what Steve had been calling about.

"Ah. Hey," James said, waving with his other hand. "How's it goin'?"

It had been almost seven months since he and James had last seen each other. Of all the ways Sam had imagined them meeting each other again, this had not been one of them. He tried not to think of how he looked: creaky-eyed and pillow-faced, wearing nothing but an old pair of socks and basketball shorts.

"--What are you _doing_ , man?" he said, finally.

"Realizing that I didn't really think this through?" said James, with forced brightness. He gave an awkward, close-mouthed smile - he looked a lot better with longer hair, Sam thought. "You know, in my head, you were a lot more amused by this."

"Was it daytime in your head? Because that might explain it," Sam said, eyes finally lighting on the bag in James's lap. "Wait a minute -- is that my Halloween candy? Are you _eating my Halloween candy_?"

James smiled sheepishly. His teeth were blue.

"Are you kidding me?" Sam said. "So it wasn't enough for you to stalk me or to try to maim me on multiple occasions--" or to make me seriously consider having weird sex with you "--you actually sat down and thought to yourself, 'hey, so, Sam's probably repressed all that awful shit by now, lemme break into his apartment, eat up all his Halloween candy, and forcibly remind him of his helplessness'. Well, job well _done_ , man."

He'd started out more or less joking, but by the end of it, he was more or less upset. Man...his humour was wasted on himself.

James's face flickered as he looked Sam over. Finally, he sank back against the closet wall, suits closing in around him.

"I wanted...I wanted to say sorry," he said, voice hemmed in, slightly muffled. "Not just for the candy -- I'll buy you more candy, I'm sorry about the candy, I was in here for a couple of hours and I got hungry -- but I really wanted to apologize. For everything.

And I really didn't think you were going to wake up in the middle of the night, I thought you would get up at the same time you always get up--" how nice, thought Sam, he knows my routine "--and when you went to get your running shoes out from the closet, you'd see me and I'd say something funny, and then you'd say something funny back and then I'd say sorry and you'd say, hey--"

"Ok, you need to breathe, dude, you're talkin' way too fast," said Sam. James's mouth snapped shut. Sam looked him over, his bouncing crossed legs, the way he kept shifting back and forth. "Jesus. You're on a sugar high, aren't you?"

"--No," James said, making a sour little face. "No, I'm not."

" _Yes_ , you are, how much candy did you eat?" James made an evasive expression while Sam rummaged through the bag full. of. empty. wrappers.

"--I'll buy you some more?" James said, again, feebly.

"Uh, damn right you will!" said Sam. He took a deep, calming breath. Whhooo. "But here's what we're gonna do right now. There is a 24-hour diner two blocks from here. You and I are going to walk there. You will eat something light and healthy and I will eat something awful and greasy. And you will pay for both of our meals. Ok?"

"...Ok," said James, with a faint... _something_ on his face. He uncrossed his legs, rocked up onto his knees so he was crouched in front of Sam. He didn't say anything; for a moment, Sam didn't say anything either.

"You're ridiculous, man," he murmured, once that single moment had passed. He shook his head and James grinned, sort of. "C'mon, get up." James grabbed at Sam's hand to pull himself up; on either side of him, the hangers clacked together while the suits did a little swaying dance.

Sam had to pull a little on his hand to get James to let go so he could switch on the lights - once he did, he got a proper glance at James's shirt and rolled his eyes. "How many damn DEATH shirts do you even own?" This one was orange, at least, so...slightly more cheery than the other one.

"--Five," said James, watching Sam pull on a plain old white shirt. "Why? How many do you own?"

" _None_ , what?" said Sam, muffled. Of course the neck got stuck around the top of his head - looked like it was turning out to be one of those nights. Mornings.

"Calm down." James's voice, nearer still. "Let me." Two hands and a tug - and the shirt came down. Well. Most of it. The other third came away in James's hand.

James very obviously bit back a smile. Teeth still blue.

"We need to work on personal boundaries," Sam decided.

"Sure," said James, leaning closer. "Sounds great." He glanced down, caught one of the ragged edges of the mess of the shirt around Sam's neck. Curled it around his fingers. Jesus.

"--So how 'bout you _wait outside_ ," Sam said. Pointedly.

James looked somewhere between blank and confused. "Are you...trying to get rid of me?"

"Oh, yea," said Sam. "I am absolutely trying to get rid of you."

James peered into his face - Sam didn't move backwards or away, didn't break his gaze. Found himself backed up against the wall anyway.

"Definitely, absolutely trying to get rid of you," he repeated, trying to catch his breath.

"Sure, sure," said James, easily, "whatever you say."

 

 


End file.
